The Shadow Games
by The Lantiea
Summary: Trunks has been captured.....
1. Default Chapter

The Shadow Game:  
  
By The Lantiea  
  
Babidi scuffed his boat against the soft flesh'neath the youths chin, his symmetrical eyes burning malignly, savaging the boy's mind. Trunks eyes shone calmly in the fast fading light, musing thoughtfully. Maybe he should not have entered the abandoned ship alone, but the temptation had been far too great. He remembered it almost precisely, every fine detail; The bleached sides protruding jaggedly upward, the ageing dome roof causing the pink-orange light to reflect and rebound off its marred surface. The whole structure hunched frozen in time, its deceased corps expanding over the ground like a rib cage of a dead animal.  
  
He didn't care that this band of freaks had just captured him, not really. He knew he should, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to that stage of self-pity, the one that trailed just ahead of fear, and he would never show fear to his enemies. He had learnt that technique from his father.  
  
Babidi turned his attention towards Dabura, though his head barely turned, nor did his gaze falter.  
  
"Well, looks like you've found another saiyan-jin mongrel to re-stock Buu's energy." He croaked hoarsely. Trunks mind contorted in shock. What were these people talking about? Who was Buu? Just out of the gathered group's view, a colloid of shadow swelled threateningly, sucking at the air about it, as if consuming it. The shadows spiralled upward, before settling out flatly. Trunks eyes fell smoothly over the shadowy stranger, only he had noticed its arrival. As a figure emerged from the black swirling waters of the shadows, the boy almost let himself believe that the stranger could be an ally. But alas, only the bizarre creature Trunks had first fought against on his arriving to the past, what had he been called? Maybe Frieza? Something like that emerged.  
  
Frieza's gaze settled on the small, almost mellow image of the violet haired boy, his part of the bargain. Frieza turned to the sorcerer, he would not speak the boy's native tongue lest he get head of what was going on. Instead, he chose to speak in HIS language. He spoke softly.  
  
"So you have the little one, I see. How old is he? He's very small." Frieza was trying not to be critical, but he wanted to make the deal better for himself.  
  
"He is Vegeta's son, the one you wanted." Babidi prompted. He hovered above Trunks' form, which lay subordinately sprawled across the floor. He wiped his spindly hand down lightening fast, obtaining a lock of the small boys' silky hair, and jerking Trunk's head back violently.  
  
"His name is Trunks. And don't try to toy with me, patience is not one of my virtues." Babidi added. Frieza groped silently. Dead was not how he planned to leave. Nether the less, Frieza continued.  
  
"He is just an animal, but can we risk him seeing the pilo-navigator? You never know how they'll take the trip. And how will I keep his power down?"  
  
"Leave that to me." Babidi replied thoughtfully. He signalled to Daboura, who eagerly stepped forward. Babidi drifted backward, allowing his minion room to work. Trunks shifted uncomfortably. He felt a wave of nausea flood over him, as he experienced a bizarre feeling of levitation. Dabura lurched forward, gripping the boy viciously around the throat. Dabura began to throttle his victim. His merciless clutch never softened, even though Trunks was sure his assassin was more conscious towards his present state. As the boys vision became engulfed by the horrendous darkness, as the back of his mind seemed to revolve in endless circles, Trunks thought he heard a faint eruption of laughter. But somehow it seemed too distant, to feral and illusive to be real. So why did his senses tell him otherwise?  
  
Dabura let his hold down. The young boy's pretty blue eyes had already clouded over. His unconscious form lay slackened in Dabura's arms. As he placed his limp body gently on the ground and backed away, Babidi moved forward, once again hovering above the boy. Babida inspected his companion's neat work. The boy was unconscious, but not dead. Good. He tenderly tilted the youth's head backward, observing Trunk's soft flesh. He ran the back of his hand down the violet haird boys' soft cheek. His baby soft skin seemed to blemish beneath Babidi's coarse fingers.  
  
Babidi fumbled around in his pocket, caressing against his sweaty palm a small, compact syringe. He removed it from his velvet pocket and jiggled the tiny metallic chip contained in the syringe. It was almost invisible, microscopic.  
  
Babidi inserted it acutly into the boys throat, lavishing the way his victim's skin rose to goosebumps at his touch.  
  
While Babidi performed this, he occupied himself by giving Frieza a full explanation.  
  
"I am currently injecting a chip programmed to control the power flow of the boy. He will always be weaker then you." Frieza seriously doubted that something so tiny could accomplish such a complicated task. Still, he had learnt not to doubt technology, especially since he had become part android. Though he let himself consider such things, Frieza never actually expressed them openly. Besides, he was not afraid of the boy, anyhow. He was just an anima, and now he didn't even pose a threat towards Frieza, especially now.  
  
Frieza knew the boy was his. Just like Vegeta had been. 


	2. Chapter 2

[pic]P2:  
  
The boys' vision slowly swirled, taunting him. As the almost unrecognisable, fractured figures began to take form, an ultimate sea of nausea overrode Trunks. He lurched forward suddenly, his rasping breath racking the air hoarsely. In his feeble attempts to break the neat of darkness that engulfed him, Trunks was sure he felt hand lay themselves firmly upon his weak, frail body.  
  
The Dr. had been sterilizing syringes, their flimsy forms held upward to the artificial light spurting forth from the doomed ceiling. He had not thought to ask questions when the youth had been bought in to him, he had just done his job as a Doctor. And why should he do otherwise? Besides, it was far to dangerous to play those sort of games hear, especially if you planed to live the full extent of your life.  
  
The boy had looked quite innocent, with a sweet face and pretty complexion, even more so on awakening.  
  
True, he had not expected the young boy to regain conciseness so soon. When they had brought him in, he appeared to have experienced a rough time. It had been extremely apparent around the throat area, which had been indented with large, strong strokes across his soft, lean skin. Just like finger marks. Never the less, he had asked no questions, not one. And now he had begun to regret it.  
  
The boy thrashed violently about, the vicious convulsions vibrating up his spine, shaking his small, frail body horrifically. The doctor strained forward from his current position; parked comfortably on his cushioned chair, stationed at his desk. Being extremely unfit was no gift either, and he was not as young as he used to be. I'm getting to old for this, He persuaded himself, and anyway, he was no athletic marshal arts champion. He had to start looking after himself.  
  
As he neared the boy, the doctors' thoughts drawled to an end. No use crying over spilt milk, nor relentlessly wasted years.  
  
…………………………………………………..  
  
Trunks lifted his head, revealing a pair of startlingly blue eyes. He gazed about himself with astounded awe. He was surrounded by numerous applications of all different, twisted, deformed frames.  
  
  
  
A hunched figure lay just within trunks' view, bustling about in some cramped corner. Maybe he could be of some help; at least he'll know where I am, he thought, turning the idea about in his mind, musing upon it. Trunks quickly shut his eyes, practically plastering one eyelid to the other.  
  
The artificial light seemed to singe his skin, seemed to burn his eyes. Even when he closed his eyes, when he clamped them shut tight, he still felt the intense heat. Never had the boy seen lights so bright before. Nausea swept over his frail body, and trunks was faintly aware of the sent of burning flesh lingering in the air.  
  
Fingers gently teetered about his left ear, softly stroking the tender, cool flesh above his earlobe.  
  
The doctor had advanced forward corsesly, petty fears thickly binding each stride forward. Most sajins were dangerous, half-breed or not. But he had looked so innocent, how could he be dangerous?  
  
As the doctor's hand softly skirted the silk-soft flesh of the youth's ear, trunks' eyes snapped gracefully open, like the wings of a butterfly. As his eyelashes parted, it seemed as tough the air about the pair rippled, vibrating with contempt. The doctor was conscious only of one sound; the air was thickly embroided with the heavy fluttering of a hundred million butterfly wings. The sound never faltered, never defected. It was as if they were caught in another dimension. The moment seemed to last forever, an eternity. The boy pondered faintly, or as far as possible; It was as if time had no boundaries, no limits, non at all.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………….. 


End file.
